


4 Left 2 Survive

by Tysolna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood guts and guns, Community: watsons_woes, Prompt Fic, Things are not as they seem, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4300164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysolna/pseuds/Tysolna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, Sherlock, Greg, Molly, and Zombies in London. John is calling on his Army training, doing what he can to make sure he and his friends survive the day. But then Sherlock gets bored...</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 Left 2 Survive

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's the Zombie Apocalypse in London. Please note what is tagged above and what is not.

John had been here before. First, urban combat training. Later, Afghani villages and cities destroyed by bombs, nothing left but abandoned ruins and snipers. Only this time, the abandoned ruins were filled not with armed insurgents, but with various kinds of zombies intent on having John for breakfast.

If he had been on his own, he’d have tried to leave the city as quickly as he could, using any way possible to stay hidden and stay alive. But he had his friends to consider, Sherlock, Greg and Molly. Everyone was carrying weapons, and a backpack each with supplies they had found in various locations.

John had been surprised to see that Molly was not only able to handle a gun at least as well as Sherlock, but also did not hesitate to shoot a zombie’s head off. “Hello”, she’d said when they re-grouped after the first attack, “working with dead people all day.” John grinned and gave Molly a bigger gun. Greg kept making approving comments to Molly, which made Sherlock gag.

 

“Now, now, team”, John admonished. He had no problem being in command of his little band of survivors, using his Army knowledge and authority to everyone’s best advantage. So far, it had served them well. They had avoided most of the zombie horde, or slaughtered the strange half-human monsters when they got in their way. John had soon realised that Greg and Molly worked well together. Molly excelled as sniper, while Greg was more of an all-rounder. Sherlock had a tendency to run blithely towards the enemy, shooting as he went, slashing them with his ridiculous curved sword when he got closer, and John was constantly worried that Sherlock would be bitten or eaten before those bastards were dead for real. But although Sherlock was covered in blood, none of it was his, and he wore the gruesome decoration like a medal. John had to concede that his mad approach to fighting zombies had some effectiveness and style.

“There’s two more streets between us and the nearest tube station”, John said. “We’ll find food and water there, and meds. Possibly more ammo. It’s definitely a good way out of here if we can follow the tracks. If nothing else, we can rest on a platform in relative safety.”

So much for the good news. John took a deep breath and continued.

“There may or may not be zombies in the station, so I’m going in first for recce. You two”, he pointed at Greg and Molly, “follow me until the first level down when I tell you to, and you, Sherlock, stay at the entrance and watch the road until I give the all-clear. The _second_ you see _anything_ that looks like a zombie, you radio in and head down to Greg and Molly. Everyone clear?”

Greg and Molly made affirmative noises. “Yes, yes, get on with it”, Sherlock said in his usual getting-bored-now tone.

“Sherlock.” This was not John talking to his friend, this was Captain Watson giving orders. “Don’t forget that we are all depending on each other if we want to survive this. When you’re on the look-out, you damn well better look out. If your boredom is getting us killed, I will rise from the dead and haunt you for all eternity. You. Will. Watch. The. Road. Is that clear?”

“Yes, John”, Sherlock said with a small sigh. John wasn’t quite sure if that sigh was one of Sherlock’s put-upon sighs or if there was something else in his reaction to John’s commanding voice, but he decided he’d worry about that one when all four of them were safe.

 

With a decisive nod, John turned, drew his gun and waved for the others to follow. He turned sharply to look down the side streets, walking sideways to check all possible corners, but the streets were mercifully empty. Slowly, carefully, he led them to the tube station. Underground signs were hanging off their moorings, advertising boards were torn to shreds, and only a few shop lights glimmered fitfully. Somewhere, a television flickered, playing snatches of song over and over, but John didn't let himself be distracted by the eerie scene.

Nothing moved except some pieces of paper that were blowing in a breeze. John motioned for the others to stop at the entrance, then went into the semi-darkness of the station. He didn't turn on his flashlight yet – light, they had found, attracted zombies, and besides, he did not want to advertise his position. No-one knew who or what lurked underground.

Fifteen steps down and into the ticket hall. No movement, no sound. John checked all corners, looking into the ticket officer's booth, but the only thing he found was some money, now useless. He walked slowly through the open ticket gate – no need to touch in your oyster now, he thought – and checked behind each pillar, again and again, until he reached the escalator, which of course stood still, leading into darkness. Taking the risk, because he definitely would not walk downstairs without knowing what was there, he turned on his flashlight and shone it steadily down the escalator, listening intently.

Nothing. No shuffling movement, no growls, nothing. Was this really going to be that easy? He tapped the radio.

 

“Ticket hall is clear. Greg, Molly, come down. Sherlock, you...”

“Yes, John, I remember. Watch the road.”

“Damn right, Sherlock.” He could hear Greg and Molly approaching and turned to them. “OK, Molly, you search the shops for anything useful. Grab whatever you can find. Greg, you watch her back. I'm going down. All right?”

“All right”, Greg and Molly chorused.

“Good. Sherlock, you OK up there?”

“Yes of course, John, why wouldn't I be?” Sherlock sounded a little distracted, but not dangerously so, and John let it pass.

“OK, then, here goes nothing.” John turned toward the escalator again and, keeping his flashlight steady on top of his gun, started his descent.

 

He was halfway down when he heard an explosion from above, followed by a bright, actinic light. He turned and started climbing back. “What is happening up there?” he shouted.

Sherlock came in on the radio. “I... may have found a flare gun”, he said, slightly sheepish. “It seems to have attracted... unwanted attention. You may want to...” The radio crackled.

“Sherlock!” Fearing the worst, John ran up the escalator. He could hear gunshots now – he recognised both Molly's sniper gun and Greg's semi-automatic rifle. “Sherlock, behind you!” Greg shouted, and John cursed. Trust Sherlock to bollocks this up.

 

Finally John reached the ticket hall again and ran straight into chaos. Sherlock was hacking away at zombies which came running at him from the ouside – they were not shambling, John thought, why were they never shambling, they could have outrun shambling zombies no problem – while Greg emptied round after round into the hulking, muscled giants which were closing in on Molly. Molly's sniper rifle was ineffective in close quarters, but she made a good effort of bashing anything that moved with the butt of her rifle or wielding it like a sword, even though it wasn't doing much good.

John started shooting as soon as he had a clear sight, trying to get close to his friends, while wave after wave of zombies poured in from the streets. There was still a chance that they could fight their way out of this and down onto the platform.

That's when John heard growling and moaning from behind him.

There were zombies in the underground. _Damn._

 

From then on, the four were fighting a losing battle. Molly was the first to go down, while both Greg and Sherlock screamed, “No!”

John had no time to scream. He was busy firing, re-loading, and firing again, until he ran out of ammunition. He saw Greg stumble, trying and failing to roll out of the way of the muscled giant falling on him, tearing and biting. Sherlock was still moving, bathed in blood and gore, picking up Greg's discarded rifle and throwing it at John. That moment's inattention was enough for one of the undead to grab Sherlock and drag him back into the seething mass of bloodthirsty maws.

John was furious. They had been so close. He lowered his useless gun and closed his eyes as zombies came at him from all sides.

 

**Game Over.**

 

John ripped the headset off and practically launched himself at Sherlock. “You unbelieveable idiot! A flare gun?! You _know_ light attracts zombies! We were almost there, and you go and... Argh!” He threw his hands in the air in disgust, while Sherlock stood still as a statue.

Greg and Molly came in from the kitchen, where they had set up their computers. Greg was carrying three beers. Molly held the fourth and was giggling. “This was fun”, she said. “A bit unrealistic, though. If you shoot someone in the knees, they should not be able to walk... oh.” She stopped as she saw John glare daggers at Sherlock.

Greg tried handing John and Sherlock the beer, but neither of them reacted, so he put them on the coffee table and took a swig of his own. He was grinning. “Good game, though. 'Zombies in London'? We should try again a bit later. Now, is it just me or is anyone hungry?”

Still, John and Sherlock did not react, so Greg turned to Molly. “Shall we order in some Chinese, then?”

Molly smiled at him. “Oh yes, let's”, she said, dragging him back into the kitchen where the take-away menus lived, giving Sherlock and John space.

 

“Sherlock...” John began, his voice hard and low and dangerous.

“John”, Sherlock interrupted. “It is only a game. None of it is real. I found this gun and thought it... no, don't look at me like that. I didn't know it was a flare gun.”

John sighed. “I know it isn't real, you git. But, Sherlock, if you can't listen to me when we're gaming, how can I be sure you'll listen to me when we're in real trouble?”

Sherlock took a step towards John and reached out to touch his arm. “If we are in real trouble, I always listen to you, you know that. _This is just a game_ , John. We will have Chinese, and then we will try again. If you want to. And I will not touch the flare gun this time, I promise.”

John smiled. “You'd better not, Sherlock. And what's with your utterly ridiculous tactic of running at zombies? All you need is a battle cry, and you'd look like some sort of, I don't know...”

“Urban pirate?” Sherlock suggested with a grin.

“Yeah, that. Too bad there are no pirate mods for this game, or we could kit you out with a sash and tricorn.” John giggled. “Come here, you”, he said, reaching out and drawing Sherlock into a brief hug. In the kitchen, Greg and Molly were laughing.

 

Outside, in the darkness, something shuffled and crashed. Probably just a cat, John thought.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The LAN co-op first person shooter "Zombies in London" does not exist, alas, but if it did, I'm sure the four of them would be playing it. Inspiration for the zombies (and the title) was the game "Left 4 Dead 2".
> 
> When I play games, like Dragon Age or Mass Effect for instance, I'm usually a Rogue character, and Sherlock's style of playing is based on mine: Run into the melee, hack and slash. Not a good tactic when you're playing a Mage... :-D


End file.
